


Bespoke Service

by LittleLynn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Jinnobi Challenge 2020, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Smut, Tailor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: At first, he thought his inappropriate lust for his client was making him see things, because surely not. It simply wouldn’t be fair for someone to be rich, handsome, charming and so completely hung that his poor tailor had no choice but to notice. But he wasn’t seeing things, life really was unfair, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat and clung to his professionalism in a bid for survival.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 249





	Bespoke Service

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT TAILORING, just roll with it. 
> 
> big thank you to all the enablers on the server, you know who you are, i hope you enjoy <3

“Kenobi, your five o’clock is here,” Adi called from the front room and Obi-Wan straightened, shaking himself out of the short daydream he had been enjoying in the few brief minutes he’d had between appointments. 

He was lucky, really, there were certainly worse situations for a tailor to be in than working in a sought after shop on Savile Row. Besides, every client he had was someone who was saved from that hack Maul and his butchers shop masquerading as a tailors over the road. Adi had joked once that Obi-Wan worked so hard in a concentrated effort to put them out of business, she wasn’t exactly wrong. 

He had a loyal customer base, he might not be one the upper class toffs that he catered for, but he certainly knew how to blend in around them, make them think that the person doing their suits was one of them. Ridiculous really, if he were as affluent as them he’d be off doing something useful with his money, not crawling around on his knees with pins in his mouth fitting their suits in the most flattering way possible - a very hard task in some cases. But, thinking he was just as posh as they were certainly put his clients at ease. 

His five o’clock was someone new, not as rare an occurrence as one might think, despite the closed group that the upper class was. It usually only took Obi-Wan one look to work out if this was a potential new client, or someone splashing out on a once in a lifetime suit, never to be seen again. He wondered which Mr. Five O’Clock would be, turned on his charm and best smile, and headed out into the main shop. 

He ground to a halt after a couple of steps. Mr. Five O’Clock was  _ handsome _ , in a way rich people rarely were. Instead of being plucked and treated and manicured into such submission that you could no longer tell if someone was attractive or just expertly primped, Mr. Five O’Clock was tall and broad, with absurdly long legs and shoulders so broad Obi-Wan was having unprofessional thoughts about them already. His hair was long and chesnut and starting to grey at the temples, giving him a dignified look, added to by his short beard and clear blue eyes. 

No to mention the large hands that were holding onto - and horribly crumpling - his jacket.

Frankly, it was a canvas Obi-Wan would be  _ delighted _ to dress. And not only because the suit he was currently in, while no doubt expensive, was also clearly off the rack and not doing this man’s body justice in the slightest, even if Obi-Wan was practically drooling already. 

He knocked himself out of it and resumed his best charming smile. He was a professional.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, walking over to the counter and checking the books. “Sir Jinn?” 

“Qui-Gon is fine, and you really didn’t keep me waiting, I only just walked in,” Qui-Gon smiled, the expression making his eyes crinkle and Obi-Wan’s knees go weak. His voice was as deep as Obi-Wan had hoped it would be, and so far he hadn’t shown himself to be an entirely insufferable toff, which on Savile Row was something special indeed. 

“I have here that you wish to consult about getting a fully bespoke suit?”

“Yes, I find myself in need of one. I’m getting frowned at for buying off the rack still,” Qui-Gon replied, and Obi-Wan regarded him with a raised eyebrow. What a sir was doing in an off the rack suit he had no idea. Maybe he was just lazy, or was used to getting away with it because of how handsome he is. 

“Quite. Do you have any idea what kind of suit you’re looking for?” 

“Honestly, I don’t really know anything about suits, could you lead the way? I’m sure anything you decide would be perfect,” Qui-Gon replied, disarmingly charming and smiling at Obi-Wan again. His heart fluttered in his chest at the idea of being given free reign over dressing this man - among other things. 

“Of course, happy to. How about today I take your measurements, and I will have some plans drawn up for your next appointment and we can get started properly then,” Obi-Wan suggested, pleased when Qui-Gon nodded easily and let himself be led back into dressing room one. “What is your price range, if you don’t mind me asking. It makes doing the designs easier if I have an idea.” 

“Money is no issue, whatever you think is best,” Qui-Gon replied with a casual wave of his hand, as if there weren’t suits in this place pushing five grand - and they weren’t even bespoke.  _ Sir _ indeed. 

“Alright then. If you could stand on the pedestal, I’ll get started,” Obi-wan instructed, pleased when Qui-Gon stood with his back straight and shoulder’s back, without needing to be asked. Not that he would have minded having to adjust his posture once or twice. 

Obi-Wan started with his back, shoulders and arms, trying not to get distracted by just how broad that back was, proven with a numerical value that was going to haunt Obi-Wan’s dreams.

“Do you have a colour in mind?” Obi-Wan asked, in an attempt to distract himself while measuring his arms. “Some suits are required to be black, or can I be a little more daring?” He asked, refusing to let his face flush at the warm cadence of Qui-Gon’s laugh. 

“No need for it to be black, the world could always use a little more colour.”

“Agreed,” Obi-Wan smiled, trying not to get light headed at the width of a bicep. “I have a few ideas already, would you like to know what I have in mind?” 

“I’m not adverse to being surprised, and I seem to be in good hands, so I’m happy to wait for you to draw up some plans,” Qui-Gon replied. Obi-Wan was usually the charmer, not the charmed, during these meetings, but there was a first time for everything, and he gave Qui-Gon a coy smile before he could think better of it. 

He was already building a muted green tweed suit in his head, and could hardly bear the thought of how delicious Qui-Gon was going to look wrapped up in it. If he could make a rail suit look this good, then he was born to wear bespoke. Well, or nothing, but that would have to remain in Obi-Wan’s imagination. As charming and handsome as Qui-Gon was, no sir paid a tailor a second glance for anything other than their skill. 

“I look forward to it,” Obi-Wan replied, getting to his knees as casually as he could. 

Usually, crouching or kneeling to take leg measurements  _ was _ an entirely casual act, stalwart professional that Obi-Wan was. But usually he wasn’t near-debilitatingly attracted to his client, so his mind could help but wander to other connotations. 

Qui-Gon was entirely relaxed, making easy small talk and leading the conversation - something Obi-Wan was glad of as he took the measurement of his hips and moved lower, struggling to think of anything else to say himself, even if Qui-Gon did seem to be far more personable and interesting than most rich people. 

Obi-Wan was preparing to measure Qui-Gon’s inseam - the man himself spreading his legs a little wider nonchalantly at Obi-Wan’s request - and pulling at Qui-Gon’s slightly baggy unfitted trouser leg when he noticed. 

At first, he thought his inappropriate lust for his client was making him see things, because surely  _ not _ . It simply wouldn’t be fair for someone to be rich, handsome, charming and so completely hung that his poor tailor had no choice but to  _ notice _ . But he wasn’t seeing things, life really was unfair, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat and clung to his professionalism. 

If Qui-Gon was that  _ big _ , then he was going to need to let the inseam out a little, Obi-Wan’s dreams of sliding him into almost indecently fitted trouser legs dashed - with new dreams rising - as he realised that it would be entirely indecent and unable to hide was Qui-Gon was...hiding. 

For a hysterical - but thankfully silent - moment, Obi-Wan genuinely wondered if Qui-Gon was one of those insecure people who stuffed socks into their underwear to appear larger. But he was far too dignified for that. And the size of his hands was frankly enough to dispel that idea anyway. 

Obi-Wan carefully took Qui-Gon’s other inseam while trying to smother the fantasies now drowning out everything his head about looking up at Qui-Gon through his eyelashes and unbuckling his pants so that he could see - touch, taste - for himself. 

“There, all done,” Obi-Wan said, forcing a smile and standing up stiffly as he kept a tight hold of his self control before he embarrassed himself. To sell tailored suits, you wore a tailored suit, Obi-Wan could  _ not  _ get aroused. Adi would tease him forever, and have to fire him. 

“Are you alright Obi-Wan? You went a little quite, I hope none of my chatter offended you, I know I get a little passionate sometimes,” Qui-Gon apologised, and Obi-Wan felt like the rudest person on the planet because he hadn’t heard a single word of what Qui-Gon had said since his discovery. 

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan smiled as neutrally as he could. Qui-Gon deserved warmth and he knew it, but he worried if he gave himself an inch he’d end up with bruises on his knees, no dignity, no job, and a terrified client. “And a little passion should never be considered a bad thing.”

“If you’re sure,” Qui-Gon replied skeptically, his browns drawing together as if Obi-Wan was a particularly difficult puzzle he was trying to figure out. Obi-Wan knew he was a dreadfully simple puzzle, and hoped that Qui-Gon did not figure him out. 

“Quite,” Obi-Wan gave him another tight smile and led him to the till, that was artfully designed not to look like a till at all - people with the most money always thought money was terribly gauche. “I should have plans drawn up in the next few days.” He was a liar, he was going to do them immediately. “Would any time next week suit you, I have some space available on Tuesday or Thursday.”

He booked Qui-Gon back in on Tuesday, for a two hour appointment where Obi-Wan’s hands would be professionally expected to be on his body. At least it was going to be at the end of the day, and he knew what he was facing this time. The shop was empty for now, so with a groan he let his forehead smack against the desk. 

“Obi-Wan stop being dramatic, it scares off customers,” Adi called to him, somewhere between joking and entirely serious, and he scraped himself back up into a standing position. 

“We close in ten minutes anyway,” he replied. 

She asked him what he was being dramatic about, he told her, and she laughed at him solidly until closing, before telling him not to do anything that would cost her a flush customer and her best tailor. 

Tuesday afternoon rolled around and Obi-Wan’s made nervous last minute adjustments that didn’t really change anything at all to the suit he had designed Qui-Gon. He should have done more than one and he knew it, it was presumptuous of him to have just designed one to show Qui-Gon, and it wasn’t like it would be a hardship to dream up multiple ways to wrap this man up. But for all Obi-Wan knew this was the only suit Qui-Gon was ever going to have made, in which case he couldn’t imagine any other. 

His nervousness carried over to when he spread out the designs for Qui-Gon, who looked them over with a keen eye and unfairly inscrutable expression. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to anxiously tap his fingers against the wooden desk; a client had once snitily informed him that it was an annoying, low class thing to do. Obi-Wan had smiled pleasantly and enjoyed a daydream about sewing ‘I am an asshole’ into the back of his suit. 

“Do you like it…?” Obi-Wan asked after a few minutes, unable to contain himself any longer. He’d never met an aristocrat with such attention to detail before, and was getting distracted by the way Qui-Gon was rubbing at his beard in contemplation. He had made sure his own beard - and hair, and outfit and hands and everything - was as smart he could be today. Adi had laughed.

“Obi-Wan it’s breathtaking,” Qui-Gon smiled at him, straightening up and offering him a look so open and delighted that it felt like it was filling Obi-Wan up from the inside out. 

Obi-Wan was entirely ready to get lost in the blue of his eyes when he got distracted by the hand squeezing his shoulder - the big big  _ big _ hand squeezing his shoulder - was reminded of certain other things about his newest client and smacked an iron tight control over himself before he could do anything embarrassing, like whimper. 

“Ah. I am glad you approve. Shall we get started?” Obi-Wan asked, extracting himself from that hand as subtly as he could and hiding behind a veneer of professionalism. He ignored Qui-Gon’s concerned frown as best he could, Qui-Gon was too kind for his own good. 

The appointments with Qui-Gon - plural because making a bespoke suit took many, even if Obi-Wan could do a certain amount of it on his own - stretched over eight weeks. Eight weeks of torture that hadn’t gotten any easier, no matter how hard Obi-Wan had tried. 

Because when he was able to listen to what Qui-Gon was saying - working on a sufficiently safe area of the suit, not that any part of Qui-Gon wasn’t devastatingly attractive to him - he was learning that Qui-Gon really was not like the other toffs. He didn’t speak like one, and he was so filled with kindness and generosity Obi-Wan would have thought it was a front, except no one bothered to present a humble front to the man making them an eight thousand pound bespoke suit. 

Qui-Gon had been hard enough to resist when it was only his appearance and well endowed body that was drawing Obi-Wan in, knowing that he was also sweet and funny and caring was making Obi-Wan feel like some bad pretty woman cliche - only a tailor, not a prostitute, no matter where his mind kept trying to take him, and without any real interest from the bachelor in question. 

Even if Qui-Gon was interested, which Obi-Wan was well aware was just wishful thinking, the man was clearly far too much of a gentleman to say anything. And it wasn’t like Obi-Wan could either, considering his position - that being, on his knees making him a suit. Besides, he knew someone like Qui-Gon would never be interested in someone like him, no matter how nice he was. But that didn’t stop Obi-Wan’s brain indulging in fantasies of frantic dressing room sex every single night.

As far as the tailoring was going, Obi-Wan knew he was doing the best work of his life. But as far as his usual conversational charm was concerned, Obi-Wan knew he was lacking. Especially when after the fifth appointment Qui-Gon had tempered his own talk somewhat, and most of the time had passed in tense silence. Tense from Obi-Wan’s point of view anyway; if he kept himself tense he figured he was slightly less likely to do anything wildly inappropriate. 

He felt a little bad, and his reputation as charming and easy to talk to was no doubt going to suffer if Qui-Gon spoke to any of his friends about him, but Obi-Wan hda still concluded that it was the best course of action. Any time he wondered if he was wrong, he’d get distracted by those hands, those shoulders, those legs, that  _ damn loosened inseam _ and remember in technicolour detail why it was for the best. It would also lead to one of his tightest smiles to avoid blurting something humiliating and sounding like it was pulled directly from a low budget porno. 

But now, Qui-Gon only had one appointment left, two days from now, to try on the finished article, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be annoyed at himself for not being friendlier, knowing he would probably not see Qui-Gon again even if he was in the market for another suit, the sessions had become so awkward, no matter how beautiful the one he’d made was. 

And it was beautiful, if Obi-Wan did say so himself. Adi was so thrilled with it she had put it in a protective glass case and put it up in the window display for the last couple of days before Qui-Gon picked it up and tried it on for final adjustments. Slightly annoying, as it had stopped Obi-Wan being able to obsessively fuss over it every time he had a spare minute. 

Qui-Gon’s final appointment took too long and not nearly long enough to arrive, creeping up on Obi-Wan even though he felt like he was clawing through the minutes before Qui-Gon arrived at five o’clock. But suddenly - or at least it felt sudden to Obi-Wan - Qui-Gon was standing in front of one the mirror in dressing room one, clad in the suit Obi-Wan had made for him, inspecting himself from all angles. 

It was a muted green tweed suit, with a blue shirt and maroon tie and a pocket square that brought out Qui-Gon’s eyes as much as he had hoped it would. It looked good on tha mannequin, every line crisp and perfect, every seam and fold exactly where it should be, every combination of colours working together. The mannequin had nothing on how it looked on Sir Qui-Gon Jinn.

It hugged every part of his body - at least, where it wasn’t entirely indecent to do so. His legs looked longer, his shoulder broader, the blues brought out his eyes, the greens complimented his hair, the tie and pocket square added weight to the silver. 

“Obi-Wan, this is...outstanding. The english language simply lacks the vocabulary,” Qui-Gom murmured, before proceeding to say things in another language - or possibly  _ three _ \- and make Obi-Wan’s knees so week is was a miracle he didn’t fall to them just like he’d been fantasising about. 

He took what he hoped was a subtle step backwards, folded his arms across his chest and looked directly at Qui-Gon’s face, before deciding that was possibly a mistake anyway considering how handsome the man was, and looking awkwardly over his shoulder instead. He pretended for his own state of mind that he didn’t see Qui-Gon’s expression fall a little out of the corner of his eye. 

“Everything is to your liking? I can still make minor adjustments,” Obi-Wan offered politely, resisting the urge to drift off into a fantasy about Qui-Gon asking him to check there was enough room in the crotch. As if Qui-Gon would ever do anything so crass. 

“You could help me pick out some cufflinks?” Qui-Gon suggested, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“Of course sir. Might I suggest silver, I have a couple of possibles here already,” Obi-Wan replied, reaching for the tray of them kept on little velvet cushions. He had hoped that using sir would put a little distance in his brain, giving him every reminder that this was a client. In reality it just made everything seem hotter to Obi-Wan, and made Qui-Gon frown at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. Thanks to the mirrors in the dressing room, you could see everything even if you weren’t looking. 

“Those ones look lovely,” Qui-Gon said, pointing to the simple silver cufflinks Obi-Wan had hoped he would choose. “Would you mind?” He asked, holding out the cufflinks. 

Qui-Gon placed them in Obi-Wan’s hands making him all too aware once again of how much bigger Qui-Gon’s hands were than his own. Those hands looked like they could do anything at all, including all manner of filthy things to Obi-Wan, but they were also soft and uncalloused and Obi-Wan thought they’d feel as good cupping his face to draw him in for a kiss as they would engaged in other, less innocent activities. He wasn’t sure what was better - worse - looking at those distracting hands, or up into the face they belonged to.

Obi-Wan finished fastening the cufflinks, cleared his throat and stepped back, keeping his eyes just slightly averted, although he knew by now Qui-Gon was observant enough to notice it. Yet another reason why it was paramount Obi-Wan not let himself get at all aroused by Qui-Gon’s general...everything.

He was torn between wanting to make his escape and wanting to drag out these last moments for as long as he could when Qui-Gon sighed and looked at him earnestly. He felt like a rabbit in headlights. 

“I’m sorry Obi-Wan, I really have to ask. Have I offended you?” 

“What? No! No of course not, you’re my most polite customer by far,” Obi-Wan replied, offering QUi-Gon a weak smile and cursing himself out internally. Now he was definitely not getting repeat business, especially as Qui-Gon frowned. 

“Yet the evidence suggests I must have. For most of our first meeting you were at ease, but then you...stopped being so. Rather suddenly. I can only conclude that I must have stuck my foot in my mouth somehow, I am just having trouble realising what it was. You’re a brilliant tailor, Obi-Wan, and I would like to call on you again, but if it would make you uncomfortable for me to do so, I would rather you said so. 

“From our first meeting, I know you are a very charming young man, and some of my peers have bought suits from you and they all say that you’re affable and engaging, yet you seem to struggle to say two words to me.” Qui-Gon continued before sighing and rubbing his temples. “I am sorry Obi-Wan, this isn’t fair of me, I understand you’re in a difficult position here and probably can’t say anything even if I have badly offended you. The suit is beautiful, I will recommend you to everyone I know and spare you of me. Just know that I am genuinely sorry.”

“Qui-Gon no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Obi-Wan protested, feeling guilt brewing in his gut. The tipping point was Qui-Gon’s sad, placating smile. 

“And yet the evidence. Don’t apologise Obi-Wan, and thank you for your work.” He turned away, reaching for the door of the dressing room and Obi-Wan couldn’t let that happen, not like this. 

“I’m attracted to you!” Obi-Wan blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth as Qui-Gon looked back at him with wide, startled eyes.

“Pardon?” 

“Shit,” Obi-Wan sighed; there went the endorsement Qui-Gon had been promising him, and probably half the customers who knew Qui-Gon. “Sorry. I just, I’m very attracted to you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Obi-Wan. Besides, you seem far more like you don’t like me.”

“No, you don’t understand. I, oh god I’m going to sound awful, you’re a very handsome man, Qui-Gon, I thought so the second I saw you, it made fitting you for a suit...challenging at times. I was trying to be professional,” Obi-Wan replied, seeing if he could get out of this with at least some of his dignity intact.

“But when I first arrived you were relaxed, if it was just that you found me attractive, wouldn’t you have been tense from the start?” Qui-Gon argued, and Obi-Wan could have torn his hair out over Qui-Gon’s sharp mind, never missing a thing. Weren’t aristocrats supposed to be idle and apathetic? 

“I was...look, Qui-Gon I’m about to thoroughly embarrass myself and probably offend you and send you fleeing from the building, but I don’t want you to feel guilty over something that is not your fault,” Obi-Wan groaned, Qui-Gon gave him a look that made it clear he thought Obi-Wan was being a dramatic idiot and only trying to spare him. Only one thing for it. “I was, uh, measuring your inseam and noticed...well I noticed and then I couldn’t stop  _ noticing _ , and I became a little...rigid because every second I spent on my knees was a fight not to do something  _ wildly _ inappropriate like grab hold of your belt and beg.” 

Obi-Wan finished in a rush, Qui-Gon’s eyes were wide but otherwise his face was unreadable. No disgust at least, but perhaps he just needed a moment to process what Obi-Wan had said. Obi-Wan looked at the floor, it seemed easier.

“I talked so much to try and distract myself from how much of a picture you were on your knees,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up to him, wondering how his face was so calm, even though he got the feeling the man wasn’t. “I felt like an awful old letch, coveting someone so much younger than me. I thought you’d run a mile if you knew what was going on in my head. If I were at all religious, I would have been doing penance just for the thoughts.”

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan started, throat going dry and licking his lip unconsciously, only noticing as Qui-Gon tracked the movement with hungry eyes, that mask finally gone from his face. “There is a lock on the door.”

Qui-Gon reached behind him, and the click of the lock sounded loud in the sudden silence of the room. Obi-Wan could hear his own heart beating out a staccato in his chest. He bit at his lip and they just stared at each other for a moment more. God that suit looked good. Obi-Wan wanted it on the floor.

He took a step forward, then another. The dressing room wasn’t huge, and after one more big hands grabbed his hips and pulled him closer, until there were scant inches between them and Obi-Wan was forced to tilt his head up, Qui-Gon’s breath ghosting over his lips.

“There are so many things I want to do to you,” Qui-Gon murmured, taking Obi-Wan’s chin in his hand. “But first,” he said, before ducking down and kissing him so thoroughly Obi-Wan felt dizzy with it. 

Qui-Gon’s lips were soft and his beard scritched against Obi-Wan’s as hands came up around his cheeks and cradled his face just like he had imagined, getting lost in the taste of Qui-Gon, and how big those hands were. He reached up and sunk his hands into Qui-Gon’s hair, balancing on the balls of his feet as Qui-Gon hauled him closer, the kiss getting deeper as Qui-Gon slipped his tongue into Obi-Wan’s mouth and ravaged him, fucking Obi-Wan with his tongue until he was whimpering for it. 

Qui-Gon pulled back and looked down at him like a starving man, pressing a thumb to Obi-Wan’s wet, rosy lip, his eyes going dark when he slipped it inside and Obi-Wan immediately wrapped his lips around it. Obi-Wan was mostly hard already and closed the gap between their bodies, pressing himself against Qui-Gon’s thigh and moaning when he felt Qui-Gon hardening in his perfectly tailored trousers. 

“I’m going to push you up against that mirror and make you come apart at the seams while you  _ watch _ ,” Qui-Gon promised, his already deep voice low and rolling over Obi-Wan better than most lover’s hands had managed in the past. 

“Me first,” he replied, pulling his mouth from Qui-Gon’s thumb and sliding slowly down his body and to his knees. 

He looked up at Qui-Gon from under his lashes, biting his lip and deliberately coy, fingers toying with the fastenings on his trousers, just like he had fantasised about for weeks now. The bulge in the front of Qui-Gon’s pants was growing, pulling the fabric tight in an obscene stretch that got worse when Obi-Wan nuzzled his face against it. Qui-Gon groaned, and Obi-Wan preened when a hand pushed into his hair and took a firm grip. 

“Don’t be a tease,” Qui-Gon rumbled, voice done dark and making Obi-Wan shiver as he undid the clasp and zipper he had sewed into the trousers just a couple of weeks ago. 

He didn’t push the trousers down very far, just enough for him to get his hand inside Qui-Gon’s underwear and pull him out the opening. Qui-Gon was hot and thick in Obi-Wan’s hand - a hand that he couldn’t even get around the girth of Qui-Gon’s cock, a realisation that made him whimper and flick his eyes back up to Qui-Gon as he gave him two slow strokes. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Qui-Gon panted, voice going hoarse and the hand in Obi-Wan’s hair tightening and urging him forward. 

“I’ve thought about this so much,” Obi-Wan whispered, pressing a kiss to the head of Qui-Gon’s fat cock. “Ever since I first realised how big you were I’ve wanted to do this.”

“You thought about it?” 

“Every night,” Obi-Wan replied, unable to feel any shame as Qui-Gon’s cock jerked slightly in his hand. 

Qui-Gon groaned as Obi-Wan kissed and licked his way down his shaft before tugging Qui-Gon’s balls into his mouth and sucking on them indulgently, swapping from one to the other and rolling them in his mouth as he stroked Qui-Gon’s cock until the grip on his hair was just the right side of painful. 

He let himself be guided, loving the way Qui-Gon was pulling at his hair until his sac slipped from Obi-Wan’s mouth and he was drawn back until Qui-Gon’s cock head was pressing against his lips, smearing salty precome that Obi-Wan happily lapped up. He looked up at Qui-Gon and locked eyes with him as he slowly slid his lips around the head of his cock, covering his teeth and opening wide as he sunk deeper. 

Qui-Gon groaned and growled something under his breath that Obi-Wan didn’t hear, too caught up in finally getting what he wanted, how wide his mouth was being stretched, the salty, musky taste of Qui-Gon’s cock, the commanding hand in his hair. 

He rested his hands on Qui-Gon’s hips as Qui-Gon leant back against the dressing room door, could feel Qui-Gon’s muscles growing tense as he fought to keep himself still as Obi-Wan took more and more of him in. He carefully suppressed his gag reflex and whimpered when Qui-Gon’s cock breached his throat, his noise completely drowned out by Qui-Gon’s loud groan. Obi-Wan was grateful that the walls were very thick. 

He held his breath and kept going until his lips were wrapped around the base of Qui-Gon’s cock, holding him in his throat for as long as he could before swallowing, revelling in the thickness in his throat, and pulling back just far enough to breathe through his nose. His eyes were watering and his jaw was already aching but his cock was throbbing in his tight trousers and he wanted more, spurred on by Qui-Gon swearing sharply as he sunk down again. 

He deep throated Qui-Gon a few more times, the hand in his hair firm but very carefully not moving him, not wanting to choke or startle Obi-Wan when he couldn’t breathe. Obi-Wan appreciated it, but he had something a little more hands on in mind. He pulled off one more time, sucking hard as he did and looking up at Qui-Gon as he suckled on the head of his cock and stroked him with his hand. 

With his other hand he undid the flies on his own trousers, shoving them down just far enough to get his hand around himself, moaning around the tip of Qui-Gon’s cock as he finally squeezed his leaking cock. The insides of his trousers were already a mess, practically dripping precome from having Qui-Gon’s cock in his mouth, he was never going to be able to show his face at his dry cleaner’s again, but he didn’t care as more precome landed on his tongue, making him bob his head greedily in shallower sucks, moving faster and using his tongue as his hand stroked what he couldn’t easily take. 

He drew up Qui-Gon’s foreskin with his hand as his tongue played with the sensitive glands around the head, dipping under the foreskin and feeling a thrill run through him as Qui-Gon groaned his approval. The hand in his hair tightened, and Obi-Wan moaned in enthusiastic assent and stroked his own cock faster as Qui-Gon tentatively pulled at his hair, pushing him onto his cock. 

“Are you- fuck, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon growled, starting to fuck Obi-Wan’s face in earnest.

His mouth was being forced so wide by the girth of Qui-Gon’s cock it was making his jaw hurt and he loved it, wanted to sink into it, to stay on the hardwood floor on his knees forever. He felt more aroused than he had been in his entire life as Qui-Gon used his mouth more thoroughly, until he Obi-Wan could barely do anything but keep his teeth covered and moan as his face was fucked. 

“Fuck, Obi-Wan, I’m going to-” Qui-Gon warned in a broken pant. He tried to pull back but Obi-Wan surged forward, letting go of his own desperate cock so that he could take Qui-Gon deep again, hearing the older man moan at the suddenly feeling of Obi-Wan’s throat tight around his cock, the hand in his hair pulling hard as Qui-Gon came, emptying himself down Obi-Wan’s throat. 

Obi-Wan swallowed around Qui-Gon, his throat massaging his cock as he came, pulling back and catching the last few spurts of come in his mouth and savouring the taste before swallowing. Qui-Gon’s head was tipped back against the door, the man himself breathing heavily and groaning as Obi-Wan pulled off and licked him clean, only tucking him back in his trousers when he was sure a mess wouldn’t be made. When his eyes flicked up, he found Qui-Gon looking at him in disbelief, and shot him a cheeky smile. 

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your suit so soon after finishing it.”

“Imp,” Qui-Gon growled, and Obi-wan squeaked as he was hauled off the floor by strong arms and manhandled until he was pressed against one of the mirrors with Qui-Gon plastered over his back, their breath fogging the mirror as Qui-Gon whispered directly in his ear. “My turn.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Obi-Wan begged, making an embarrassing noise as his trousers were tugged down only far enough to expose his ass, a large hand coming down and gripping one of his cheeks, spreading him so that two of Qui-Gon’s fingers could brush teasingly against his hole. 

“I want to fuck you, want to see if I can sink my cock into your hole as easily as you took it in your throat. But I don’t have what I need for that here, so instead I’m going to make you come all over this mirror, and then I’m going to take you home and fuck you properly,” he promised, voice low and rough. 

“Oh god,” Obi-Wan whimpered, feeling those thick fingers against his entrance, massaging the tight ring of muscle there. 

He wasn’t expecting Qui-Gon to kneel behind him after a few moments of kissing his jaw and rubbing him, and whined when he was spread wide by large hands, his hole exposed, it had been so long since anyone had done this to him, and when he felt hot breath against his hole and a beard scraping against his sensitive skin, he knew it was going to be better than it ever had been. He was already ruined for other men, and Qui-Gon had barely touched him. 

He moaned when Qui-Gon’s tongue flicked over his hole, biting down on his forearm and squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to test just how thick the walls here were as Qui-Gon started working at his muscle, kissing and licking him until he relaxed enough for Qui-Gon to push the tip of his tongue inside. 

He gasped as Qui-Gon worked his way deeper, Obi-Wan slowly opening up around him, feeling pleasure ringing through him as he was spread open on Qui-Gon’s tongue, not stopping until his face was buried between Obi-Wan’s cheeks, his tongue as deep as it could go. Obi-Wan was ruining his blazer as he bit down on his arm to muffle his high-pitched moan when Qui-Gon started to fuck him on that tongue, pushing in and out in a prelude to what Obi-Wan wanted from his cock later, in Qui-Gon’s home. But this was good, more than Obi-Wan had had in months, better than he’d had  _ ever _ . 

Qui-Gon’s hands were bruising his ass, and he was going to have beard burn on his skin and the extra sensations drove his pleasure higher, until Obi-Wan was riding back against Qui-Gon’s face in aborted little circles with his hips. He whimpered in protest when Qui-Gon finally pulled back and stood, crowding against Obi-Wan’s back, his hole loose from his tongue. 

“Hush,” Qui-Gon murmured, wrapping one arm around Obi-Wan’s chest and pressing two fingers against Obi-Wan’s lips. “Get them wet for me.”

Obi-Wan did as he was asked greedily, sucking the fingers into his mouth and taking them deep, trembling with anticipation when Qui-Gon took them away and Obi-Wan felt them pressing against his wet hole. He mumbled something incoherent, somewhere between a plea and a demand, and Qui-Gon chuckled, biting at his earlobe as he pressed one finger inside of Obi-Wan in a slow push that drove him up onto the balls of his feet gasping. 

“You take me so well,” Qui-Gon murmured, starting to fuck Obi-Wan on his finger, stretching his hole as he did while his other hand moved lower, took Obi-Wan’s cock in a tight grip and started stroking him, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive, wet head of his cock on every pass. 

He crooked his finger, finding Obi-Wan’s prostate easily and making Obi-Wan jerk and whine in his hold. He’d been on edge since he first dropped to his knees, and Qui-Gon stretching his hole and massaging his prostate was making his cock drool precome, legs feeling weak. He cried out desperately as Qui-Gon carefully worked a second spit slick finger inside, making a pleased rumble in his chest as Obi-Wan trembled in his arms, on the brink of orgasm. 

“Look over your shoulder,” Qui-Gon instructed, and Obi-Wan did as he was bid easily, whimpering when he caught sight of himself in the opposite mirror, Qui-Gon’s fingers buried deep in his hole, fucking him rhythmically. It looked obscene, felt so good, able to see how much bigger Qui-Gon was than him, what they looked like together, the picture he made with Qui-Gon’s fingers buried in his ass, and as Qui-Gon squeezed his cock and pressed against his prostate, Obi-Wan shook apart in his arms, his come spurting against the mirror, just like Qui-Gon had promised.

Qui-Gon worked him through his orgasm, continuing to massage his prostate and stroke his cock until Obi-Wan was utterly spent, his pleasure turning to oversensitivity as Qui-Gon wrung every shake and whimper out of him, kissing at his jaw and neck while he did. When Qui-Gon finally released him, Obi-Wan sagged in his arms, spending long moments catching his breath as Qui-Gon nuzzled at him, holding him tight.

“Oh fuck,” Obi-Wan whimpered when his eyes fluttered open, letting his head fall back against Qui-Gon, looking at them both in the mirrors, certain that the only thing holding him up was the strong man behind him..

“What?” Qui-Gon asked, deep voice rough and sated, but still managing to sound alarmed. 

“You look even better now,” Obi-Wan whined. The suit was rumpled, he should hate it, creases where there should not be creases, articles askew, a cufflink entirely lost. It would need to be dry cleaned immediately but all he wanted to do was tear it the rest of the way off. 

Qui-Gon chuckled and kissed the top of Obi-Wan’s head, his hair thoroughly messed from it’s usually tight style. “May I take you home? I said something about finishing what I started, and there is nothing I would like to do more, but I wouldn’t want to presume.” 

“Presume away,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “But I don’t think my legs work yet.”

“Shouldn’t your stamina be better than mine?” Qui-Gon teased, manhandling him until Obi-Wan was facing him, caged between him and the mirror. He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips and then tucked him back into his trousers and fastened them up, in a move that was somehow more intimate than when he had dragged them down. He cleaned up the mirror with his pocket square, which Obi-Wan was both scandalised by, and grateful for.

“Your own fault,” Obi-Wan replied, still feeling entirely ruined. Qui-Gon chuckled at him and kissed his chin before practically scooping him up in his arms. 

“Not to worry, my bed is very large and very comfortable, and you can stay there for as long as you like.”

Qui-Gon didn’t live too far from the shop, one of those London townhouses that no one real should be able to afford. There were overgrown plants on the porch and Obi-Wan wondered why Qui-Gon didn’t just hire a gardener. In central London, any garden the house did have was going to be tiny, but rich people could hire a gardener for five plants if they wanted to. Although having said that, the plants were perfectly alive, just...overgrown. 

“Wait,” Obi-Wan said as the door swung open and he was not greeted with the sight he expected. 

Instead of the pristine brownstone interior filled with original old oil paintings by legendary artists and marble busts and umbrella stands that cost more than Obi-Wan’s weekly rent, there were plants. Plants, and dirty wellies, and shabby well-loved rugs, and  _ clutter _ . 

“Yes?” Qui-Gon asked, shutting the door behind them. He toed off his expensive shoes and put on a pair of slippers that looked like those hemp ones that supported an actually charity - not a charity gala, as the toffs loved, but an actual real life charity. 

“I’m. What am I looking at?” 

“My home?” Qui-Gon replied. “I love to live in the country, but sadly work is here, so home needs to be too.”

“You work?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised again, aristocrats didn’t work, in his experience. 

“Of course,” Qui-Gon looked confused. “How did you think I could afford the suit? I work in law, environmental, which usually isn’t very lucrative but I’ve been working with the UN and with the growing crisis and radical change in young opinion I’ve been rather lucky.”

“You...you wear this?” Obi-Wan asked, reaching for a horrible, patchwork, huge, threading, deeply unfashionable and extremely comfortable and wonderful looking jumper. 

“My favourite article of clothing, really,” Qui-Gon shrugged, taking off the four thousand pound jacket Obi-Wan had made him and - thank god - hanging it up properly. 

“But you bought this!” Obi-Wan practically yelled, thinking about pocket squares and frumpy jumpers and how they fit together on the same person. And how much he  _ liked _ that they fit together on the same person. 

“Well, yes. I was getting yelled at by my intern for going to meetings with world leaders and dignitaries in a rail suit,” Qui-Gon said easily. 

“Oh my god. You’re a hippy! But you’re called  _ sir _ !” Obi-Wan protested, his eyes boggling as he took in the dreadfully (delightfully) bohemian apartment. 

“Well, I was given a knighthood for a case I fought and won a few years back. I’m not a real sir, certainly didn’t grow up with a silver spoon, did you think that?”

“Well.  _ Maybe _ , the sir is very misleading!” 

“I’m fairly certain I told you at some point.”

“I’m fairly certain I told you that I had trouble hearing the things you said while I was kneeling at your feet,” Obi-Wan replied, a little brattily, Qui-Gon laughed again and kissed the pout from his lips. 

“I am sorry my dear. Would you like me to distract you from this revelation?” He teased, one hand travelling to Obi-Wan’s backside.

“...yes,” Obi-Wan replied, feeling his body begin to respond already. “But, you know, I do like it, it’s unexpectedly charming. I’m glad you’re not a toff.”

“At this point Obi-Wan, I think you’re more of a toff than I am,” Qui-Gon teased again, corralling Obi-Wan towards his bedroom. 

“Hey! I am not a toff.”

“Have you heard that accent of yours?” 

“Yes well. I’m far too at home on my knees,” Obi-Wan cheeked. Qui-Gon laughed and swept him toward his bedroom. 

The bed was just as large and soft as promised, the suit finally hit the floor, and Obi-Wan never planned to leave. 

**Author's Note:**

> And good fun was had by all (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ i hope you enjoyed


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